Fragility
by ToTheSkye
Summary: Gordon McClintock was finally home. Or at least the home his real self once lived in. But now Grace is on her death bed, so he decides to lay everything on the table.


_The _Defiance _television series belongs to Universal Cable Productions and the_ Defiance_ video games belong to Trion Worlds_,_ not me. I do not gain money by posting this story. Stop this nonsense. Just stop it._

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The sun had barely reached its highest point in the sky when Gordon McClintock reached the front door to his new home. He still wore the jacket that used to belong to McCawley's son, but his shirt was slightly eaten away at from his wife having carried it with her everywhere.

"Why did you bother with this old thing?" He'd asked, not betraying the sentimental plucking at his nerves. "It looks like a moth buffet, and if I remember right you said I looked like a nerd the first time I wore it."

Grace had smiled - that same beautiful smile implanted in Gordon's memories - and lain an aged hand on his shoulder. "It's the shirt you proposed to me in."

So he knew that he'd want to wear it on the day he told her the truth. The last day she was guaranteed to still be alive.

That first day when Grace had brought him into her shack of a house she had told him to let every detail of what had happened to come in its own time. She knew something was off - his sudden appearance in the wheat field, him not having aged a single year - but insisted that he never hurry. Her first priority was to let him relax into his new life style. That had been a month ago.

So, in a month, he had managed to tell her he had been in space that entire time and that his ship - he never let on about being kidnapped or that the ship was Votan - had crashed in what was once St. Louis. From there a man named McCawley had helped him find clothes and a place to stay and ultimately where Grace could be found. But that was as much as Gordon could bear to admit. The only tidbit about his true self he could never completely reveal was his nightly excursions.

It had started small, relatively at least. The first night he had explored the small town, a mere fraction of what Defiance had been, and became acquainted with its town council. An hour later found McClintock and one of the higher-up members chatting in a bar. Once the man had turned to leave McClintock had followed him out of the building and struck him down in a side street. That morning the town was baffled at what had happened and Gordon pleaded that the bartender remain silent on the pledge of McClintock doing his best never to repeat his offense. James Bogg was the only man who knew his secret. Nevertheless, McClintock immediately purchased a cage to lock himself in at night. Assuring Grace, of course, that he would explain in due time.

Two weeks after his return ushered in a problem that couldn't be fixed so easily. Grace, balancing on the line between 55 and 56, had contracted a disease that would be curable in 2013 or by Votan technology, but neither of them would choose to seek out an Indogene, for ever varying reasons. Gordon didn't trust a Votan as far as he could throw one, and Grace assumed that now, 33 years later, she had at least been reunited with her love and was ready to die happily in his arms.

Two more weeks later and every sign of Grace's impending passing was visible. She couldn't leave the bed and had to be spoon-fed soup as nourishment. It was a terrible thing to see, and Gordon was both relieved and grievous that she would be leaving soon.

With a heavy sigh Gordon knocked on the door three times, their sign that it was a friend approaching, before entering the dark one room home. The lantern at her bedside flickered and lit up her drawn face, eyes closed peacefully. Her sides heaved slowly as a sign that she was still alive, and her eyes opened slowly to meet his. "Gordon..."

McClintock cracked a smile as he walked over. He placed a hand on her cheek and moved it to her forehead. "You alright, baby?" He knew she'd say yes, or a variation thereof, but he wanted to make sure.

"Fit as a broken fiddle." Her voice was weak. Still soft and sweet, but dying like the rest of her.

Gordon sat gently beside her on the bed, reaching forward to take her hand. "If this was your last day, what would you want from it?"

Grace replied immediately, as though she had been contemplating that question all this time. "I would spend it with you; never stray from your side." That thought hit him hard, and he had to look away and collect himself before he lost his nerve in front of her. She recognized the look in his eye, his behavior. "You look like you have something on your mind."

So he buckled down and let everything spill out, even the parts where he had almost killed Amanda and had assuredly killed the town councilman. He told her about being an Indogene, an Indo-sapien - a term he'd thought up during his time in Old St. Louis, staring at Lake Nothing. That was why they couldn't sleep together, let alone wouldn't. He was a mockery, a crude copy of what she had truly wanted all these years.

But she never spoke out against him. It shocked her, that expression of sheer astonishment was unmistakable, but she simply nodded and let him continue. And when he reached the end of his tale she stretched a hand forward to stroke his cheek, stained wet from the one tear he let loose. She smiled at him, a bittersweet gesture. "You look and act and feel just as Gordon did. For all the things that aren't him, you are still my husband inside your heart."

And that ripped to shreds every bit of self-control he had left. Gordon pulled her into a hug, careful not to hurt her, and buried his face in her gray, straw-like hair. They sat that way for an hour or more until three knocks sounded at the door and James Bogg and Earl Fischer, the town doctor, entered. McClintock and Bogg left the doctor to attend to his patient but hovered at the door once outside. James stared at him for awhile and then walked to the corner of the house to light a cigarette.

"I may be gettin' on in years, but I can see a dead man walkin' when I lay eye on 'im." Gordon and James shared a long look of solemnity before Bogg took another drag of the smoking paper and looked off into field. "You sure you wanna go through with it? There won't be any turnin' back."

"I hardly deserve more than to see her off, and I have. But I won't let her know about it. Just hand me the gun." Bogg complied reluctantly, mumbling something about using "Maria" for the special occasion. Thereon they stood in silence, Bogg smoking and McClintock with the pistol firm in his hand. The sun was below the tree line but not yet setting when Fischer exited the shack with a grave expression on his face.

He took one look at the gun and visibly blanched. Earl faced Gordon and spoke straightforward with him. "Wait 'til I'm outta sight. And you-" Here he turned on James, smirking cynically. "-get the honor of carrying him to my office." And with that said and dealt with he trudged down the worn path leading back to the town. Gordon assumed he'd come back for Grace's body in the night, let the masses learn about the tragedy slowly.

James spit out the wasted cigarette and looked Gordon dead in the eye, reaching forward to shake his free hand. "It's been a pleasure knowin' ya."

Gordon nodded, returning the handshake firmly. James had become the closest thing to a friend since his arrival, and he knew him as a man, not a space hero. He'd sorely miss the bartender. "Pleasure knowing you too, James."

The two stood a bit straighter. James brushed off his jacket and saluted the man. And Gordon raised the pistol to his head, pulling the trigger with the thought of his grayed wife filling his thoughts.


End file.
